Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 39: Auction V

Zane felt it again—that sour, crawling rage that rose from somewhere just beneath his ribs and spread upward like nausea. It hit him the moment he caught sight of Gianna and the new fellow she had shamelessly latched herself to.

Of course he was rich. He looked it. It explained everything—why she was sitting next to him, leaning in, whispering into his ear like honey poured over warm bread. Gianna never settled for less. She didn’t know how to.

The more they whispered, the more that ugly churn twisted inside him.

What were they talking about? What was she telling him that made the man grin like an idiot, lifting his paddle to bid—foolishly—for a necklace he obviously knew nothing about?

But then again, Gianna could make any man do anything. Her control was absolute. Her sorcery ran that deep.

Months ago, he had been naïve enough to think she had abandoned that lifestyle. That she had followed Athena’s footsteps—perhaps grown a conscience. But watching her now, he realized the truth: a leopard never changes its spots.

Gianna certainly hadn’t.

"Are you not going to top it? Mason Beckett seems to have tapped out," the actress beside him drawled, voice sugary, hand clinging to his arm like a child begging for attention.

Zane sighed, swallowing the urge to tell her to get off him. Did she really think he was bidding for her?

At first, he had joined the bidding because he had recognized the necklace immediately.

Gianna had sent him a picture of it once—days before their wedding ceremony—saying it was one of her send-off gifts, an heirloom passed down through generations of women from her mother’s side.

So yes, he had recognized it.

And he had recognized too, from the way her face had gone stark white earlier, that she hadn’t known it was being auctioned. Her uncle had played her again. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

The same uncle he had warned her about. But she hadn’t listened. Instead, she had latched onto this rich wannabe who was only here to show off.

He had wanted to get the necklace back for her... as—

He pursed his lips, the thought refusing to form, not liking the picture his mind presented. So he abandoned it—and the unsettling feeling that came with it—abandoned the bidding too.

Let the fellow pay the 200,000 dollars if he could.

The actress tugged at his sleeve again. "I really want it," she purred.

"Well, woman, you can’t have it unless you want to bid for it yourself."

She jerked back as though he’d slapped her, staring at him as if he had stolen her inheritance.

Women and their ridiculous obsession with shiny things. At least in that area, his father had been right.

Zane pushed away the irritation, pushed away the pouting date he had zero interest in, and turned his attention to the auction host asking if there were any other bids.

But he couldn’t help it—his eyes drifted back. Back to Gianna. Back to the man beside her.

The man looked smug. Pleased with himself. And Zane hated it. Hated it enough that his fingers tightened around his paddle.

"300,000," he called out.

A hush rippled across the hall. Heads turned. Whispers stilled. And in that suspended second, his eyes locked with Gianna’s—hate-filled, scorching—and then with the man’s curious gaze.

He expected hostility. Rivalry. But instead, the man smiled. And lifted his paddle.

"500,000."

He watched Gianna whip her head toward the man again, whispering something sharp and urgent.

The man smiled again. And Zane cursed under his breath.

Of course. She was going to drive this fool straight into the ground. She had that talent.

Did this man even realize who he was competing against? Did he know he was sitting across from Zane Whitman, owner of Whitman Industries?

Zane lifted his paddle. "1 million."

The murmurs grew louder, like wind gathering before a storm. People turned fully now, eyes darting between the two men. Something was unfolding, something personal, and everyone could smell the tension.

Only his date seemed thrilled. "Win him, Zane!" she squealed.

He bit back a retort. His gaze fixed on the man—the one with the infuriating smirk.

The man lifted his paddle. "5 million."

Gianna sagged in her chair, shoulders dropping with exhaustion—or resignation.

Zane watched her closely. What was that? Defeat? Surrender? No. Gianna never surrendered. This was another manipulation, another ploy to keep the man bidding.

Zane smiled. A cold, entertained smile.

He would help the fool spend his money. "10 million."

"20 million."

"30 million," Zane said, leaning back, amused.

"50 million," the man countered effortlessly.

Zane’s grin widened. He was enjoying this—too much. "70 million."

The man didn’t even blink. He lifted his paddle, calm as still water. "100 million."

Zane laughed. A full-bodied, reckless laugh.

Checkmate. He let his paddle fall to the floor.

The auction caller practically exploded with excitement. "Any more bids? Any more?!"

And when no one responded, he shouted, "Sold!" nearly leaping off the stage from how delighted he was.

A scatter of laughter moved across the room. Some people were amused. Most were curious—who was this stranger who casually tossed out a hundred million dollars for a single necklace?

Was he that in love with the famous designer who had only recently been rumored to have married Zane Whitman?

Zane couldn’t help it—the laughter bubbled out of him again when he met Gianna’s glare. She subtly lifted her middle finger, low enough for others to miss, but he saw it.

And oh, how it pleased him.

He laughed harder, bending forward, realizing he hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.

"What’s funny, Zane? You lost!" the actress snapped.

He didn’t even look at her.

His eyes were fixed on the podium where Gianna’s date was invited to make his payment.

Zane rubbed his hands together, waiting for the man’s confidence to crack. Waiting for the card to decline. Waiting for the lie to unravel.

But instead, the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a black card. One that looked real enough.

He handed it over. The caller accepted it with two hands, bowing.

Zane held his breath, ready to smirk, ready to gloat...

The caller’s eyes widened. His mouth parted. It had gone through.

One hundred million. Paid.

"Thank you so much," the caller said breathlessly, waving at a server to package the necklace. "Thank you, Mr..." He paused, glanced at his tablet, about to search for the man’s name.

But the stranger spoke first, voice deep, smooth, controlled. "Noah. Mr. Noah Newman."

Zane frowned, shocked, leaning back slowly.

Newman.

Why was that name familiar?